


Creepypasta Boyfriend Scenarios

by em_n_m_e



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: AU - Soulbound, Attempted Murder, Blood and Gore, Eventual Romance, Gen, Gore, Nightmares, Other, Reader-Insert, Smut, Twisted!Reader in certain scenarios, Violence, alternative universe, at some point probably, attempted descriptions lol, boyfriend scenarios, its okay if youre confused, soulbound, soulbound is my concept, though romance isn't the main point of this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:15:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23203819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_n_m_e/pseuds/em_n_m_e
Summary: Also posted on Quotev!Not exclusively romance; will follow an actual plot through different scenarios. Requests are opened for digressions, though! Hope you enjoy! :) [Characters can be requested too.] Includes: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, The Operator, Eyeless Jack, Masky, and Hoodie.
Relationships: BEN (BEN Drowned)/Reader, Eyeless Jack/Reader, Hoody (Creepypasta)/Reader, Jeffrey Woods | Jeff the Killer/Reader, Masky (Creepypasta)/Reader, Slender Man/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	1. Introduction, Trigger Warnings & Disclaimers

**_This page will be updated regularly after each chapter released._ **

**PLEASE READ! IMPORTANT!**

The first chapter of this work is the very introduction to how our dearest Reader got tangled up with these beings. The first chapter is split into 2 parts. First part contains Ben Drowned, Masky, and Hoodie, while the second will contain the remaining ones.

I'm a bit of an annoying author, though I hope you can enjoy in my work nonetheless. I accept constructive criticism because I am definitely on the lookout to improve my writing! English is not my native language. 

I take requests on my CP tumblr, as well as post updates! These scenarios can take longer to make, so I'm truly sorry if the wait is too long; that's why I'm offering the alternative of requesting shorter scenarios/headcanons on tumblr! They don't have to be Reader-insert exclusively. Hit me up! :) ([my tumblr](https://adminmajora.tumblr.com/))

GENERAL FORMAT:

  * The order of the characters: The Operator, Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie.
  * Next to each name will be a **word count**.
  * Horizontal line will be inserted in between scenarios for easier navigation.



TRIGGER WARNINGS:

  * Violence
  * Blood
  * Explicit descriptions
  * Murder
  * Torture



DISCLAIMERS:

  * I do not own any of the characters used in this fan-fiction. 
  * Some scenarios are long, therefore it takes time to write it. If longer scenarios are not to your liking, then this piece of work is not for you.
  * Even though this is titled 'Boyfriend Scenarios,' the romance will be minimal as I'd like to keep the horror part of Creepypasta intact.
  * The personality for (Y/n) can and will be twisted in certain scenarios, be warned.
  * This work will depict realistic problems in the world (i.e usage of alcohol, drugs, sex, etc)




	2. The Thrill of the Night: Part I

**Ben Drowned** ;; _1262_

_On the 23rd of April I saw a child._

_Pale face, empty eyes, and a frown directed at me. I didn’t understand where I was, what was happening, nor who I was. Existence was meaningless in the face of such a pitiful sight. The child was staring at me with huge, lifeless orbs, and all I could do was stare back. There was distant laughter which I barely processed, and the Moon was too close for comfort._

_Everything jump started the moment I felt myself breathe. There was no child in front of me, the laughter had gotten louder—it was above me along with the Moon bearing a face. I felt dread, fear, and perhaps even depression. I didn’t understand, I cannot understand even if I were to try. It was to vivid, too realistic as every breath I took I could feel with my entire being—and my legs were shaking along with my hands, and I felt sweat drip down my face. But there it was, above me, laughing maniacally, and summoning others akin to it. And I‌ couldn’t do a thing about it; I‌ couldn’t move, scream, run away, reject this fever dream or anything at fucking all._

_They pinned me down, they kept on laughing and fucking laughing and they—_

The text was discontinued, or rather was too messily wrote to be read. You didn’t—couldn’t finish it properly; your heart beating already sped up just from the thought of the dream. Was it a dream?‌ It felt too real to be one. You set aside your pen with a shaky breath, opting to leave the dream be for now. You couldn’t ignore it eternally, as you could still feel the pain of having a mask stitched onto your face. You traced the line of the needle with your hand, but you found no sewing, no wounds, nothing. There were no bumps in your skin, no different than it was yesterday or the day before—but it still _hurt._

Ignore it. Ignore it, you decided, and set off to studying. You were finishing your college degree and really didn’t have time for distractions; it was enough that you were already too aware of this world and were suffering, but for the haunting to continue in your dreams?‌ It didn’t feel fair. It wasn’t your first time feeling such dread in a dream—a nightmare, really—and you know you’ve heard that laughter before. Even the Moon seemed familiar in some way, but the pain, the mask, the absolute terror? – that was a first.

You cleared your work space of the littered papers, and replaced it with a larger heap of papers along with your laptop. You put on some background music, and from time to time checked information you didn’t have on your browser. Otherwise, your full attention was on the papers in front of you.‌ You weren’t sure how much time had passed, though you’ve noticed that the hourly long video was done as there was no music coming from the speakers. Though, when you looked at the screen of your laptop, your browser was covered by an opened notepad program.

“Find me,”‌ you read aloud what was written, and so you quieted down the same second, processing the words and the very nature behind what just _fucking_ happened. You know you haven’t written that and that you’ve never used the function of the notepad on your laptop before. The pain on the edges of your face had gotten worse at this point; instinctively, you shut the laptop and completely abandoned your workplace. Maybe you were just tired, and you started writing something in the notepad. Though, you wondered if sleep was an option. Through easy deduction, you knew it wasn’t, so you quickly dismissed that idea, and decided on a walk instead. Your neighborhood was quiet and quite pleasant.

The fresh air managed to ease you, if only for a little bit. The friendly smiles and polite greetings from the people around made you feel safer, and even for a moment made you forget about the strange events. As you paced the neighborhood, a sudden feeling of dredge washed over you. You locked eyes with an elderly folk. A yard sale?‌ He smiled and, seemingly, beckoned you over. You complied, approaching the man with a weary smile.

From the distance, you couldn’t see how wicked his smile had been, and you couldn’t have thought it through before approaching him. Your day seemed to have been stringed bad luck—you hoped that was it. Before speaking to him, you took in everything there was about him; judging by everything, you’d say you were the first person to talk to him today. It wasn’t too late in the afternoon, though he probably had his little yard sale out since morning. It was strange how the conversation went, as your brain blacked out from the exhaustion. You weren’t having a luxurious amount of sleep, just barely squeezing in some shut eye to function. Though, you were suddenly aware when you were handed an item. It was a cartridge for some old Nintendo console, and you weren’t even sure what game it was. He kept that crocked smile on, insisting on you to take it for free.

You were too tired to reject the notion, so you clung onto the beaten down cartridge in hopes of ending this interaction sooner. He seemed to have no words left, merely staring at you, waiting for you to turn your back and go. You bid the old man farewell, to which he replied, “goodbye, Ben.”—Who’s Ben?

You didn’t have the console for the game, so upon arriving home you simply left it with your pile of papers—or journal, as you called it. It struck you as odd, so you decided to regard the cartridge as evidence that something very, very wrong was happening. But you couldn’t think anymore, you couldn’t keep your eyes opened. You were exhausted, and everything was weighing you down. You didn’t spare another thought as you laid down in your clothes, instantaneously passing out the moment your eyes closed.

…

Laughter. There it was again, though it felt different this time. It was soft, sweet, and it was similar to one of a child. You felt your whole body light, and when your eyes opened they burned but you could still see. You were underwater, though you were breathing. Rays of moonlight probed through the surface, illuminating the ocean’s floor. You couldn’t grasp where you were as there was only the vast ocean around you. Confusion was the primary emotion that settled, though there was a bit of ease, as well. You felt safe here, at the bottom of the ocean floor.

And then you heard it again, the laughter being delivered through the water. It was slightly muffled, though you recognized it coming from behind you. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t move now; simply, you were stuck facing the way you were. Though, you felt a cold body press itself behind you, and cold arms embrace you—this body felt dead. It was dead, wasn’t it? The innocent laughter died down, and instead you heard an ominous chuckle. You held your breath, as you were supposed to in the first place, and closed your eyes, hoping to wake up. The pain from the previous dream burning hot now, your very heart beating heavily in your light body. The clash of emotions were too much to handle. Though, everything died the same moment the being stopped chuckling.

“My dear, sweet Epona. You’ve found me again.”

(Author’s notes:‌ I may have gone too far with this, but I‌ thought to make the reader a metaphorical Epona. Because in the story, when Jadusable is in the section of the game where he is a Zora, there’s Epona pointing towards the ocean as if she’s telling him that Link/Ben is there. In these scenarios, I’ll be connecting the game to the actual drowning of Ben; so in some sense, I think that Epona was a person that found Ben first when he drowned/was forcefully drowned…Am I making sense?‌ Haha, hope you enjoyed in it!)

* * *

**Masky** _;;_ _973_

What is information?

Philosophically, it is everything an individual is yet to learn, something an individual must be aware of not knowing. Those philosophy classes you took back in high school seemed to have paid off; at least, for the part you were listening. Though, information quite literally is something not to be missed—which, in its own, was your own philosophy.

You don't remember when you've matured to the point of tuning in on news, on rummaging through articles, or eavesdropping on passing conversations. Though, could it really be said that you've matured considering the latter? Nonetheless, you're quite a paranoid existence. More so the moment you've discovered quite the peculiar things happening around downtown central. You lived in a relatively secluded area of the larger city; it had its perks and downfalls, both of which were the same in its own. Not many knew about this part of town, however those whom did were usually smugglers of some sort, or were generally in shady business. This very reasoning was your excuse for practically spying on passing people, and you were not to question the morality of it. Of course, one of the perks was that there was never a murder case around here.

Until, of course, it made its headline. Along the lines of, "spree killer on the loose." The idea of the article was to keep a distance, stay safe and locked at home. Generic instructions, really, though expected of anyone with a sense of fear or, at the very least, desire to live. You, however, had one factor tugging at your heartstrings. It was both fear and excitement, and you couldn't contain yourself from snooping. Because, of course, information is something not to be missed. Because, at its very core, this spree killer was a human being, same as you with every limitation of the human biology there was. Death didn't scare you particularly; occasionally, humans did. Though, you've gotten over the fear the moment you figured out a bullet to the head does the job.

In the philosophical sense, you'd be the cat—and curiosity, your very reckoning.

In the deepest hours of the night, your weary eyes were glued to the screen of your computer. There was a monotonous voice filling the quiet of the night, coming from another room; you made sure to keep your TV on, listening in on the news, even subconsciously. It was more of a habit than anything, as you found it odd if there was no background noise. A yawn erupted from you, though you made no glance at the clock. There were various articles about this killer, tons of blog posts about this killer's trademark, and already countless conspiracy theories. Why conspiracy theories?—the killer never left a single track; not of entrance, nor of exit. No footsteps, no fingerprints, and no signs of struggle. There was never a mess left behind, everything was clean-cut and robotic. The ties between the victims were loose, and it was the most horrendous case in the past five or so years now.

“Hmm,” your eyes squinted at the mugshots of the victims. Could they be called victims?‌ They were all a part of highly illegal transactions, though none of their names tied to any of those. Human trafficking, drug trafficking, and document manufacturing—if the latter could be called ‘trafficking’. You found it quite odd that the killer stopped at the exact number to be classified a spree. However, you doubted this killer cared about a title. You had a hunch. There very various questions crossing your mind, though also a hypothesis. Having enough of a connection in your mind, you quickly abandoned your house, roaming the dead night.

You could feel your heart pounding, though if you were to run now your cover would be blown. You never thought that the urban legend would turn out to be true, really. It was ‘urban’ after all. The only thing the three victims had in common was crossing the line of reality, something the police would never consider, neither they could extract this information. It has always been kept on the low, only heard through whispers or through second-hand. It was quite loose, though if it was proven truthful… The fourth victim was the cat itself. The night screamed with your footsteps and heartbeat, and as you were nearing a corner, a body cut you off.

You stopped yourself before you collided with the sudden entity. Looking closely, a mask was glaring at you. It had two gaping holes where its eyes should be, and drawn lips. There was no doubt about it, you’ve already seen images of this person—could you call it a person? Though, your epiphany was cut short the moment this entity brought its hand up and towards you. Your whole body felt lighter from the sheer anxiety, though you could feel your heart beating heavily. However, you didn’t freeze up, you reacted accordingly.

“I know of your existence, however I have not shared of it. I have seen your mask before, however I have never exposed it to the world.” You spoke fiercely, stopping the entity in its tracks. It lowered its hand and, seemingly, let out a low chuckle.

“My existence, whether its known of or not, does not matter. It isn’t my existence you should be cautious of, though you’re seemingly ignorant,”‌ it decided to humor you in your last moments, you supposed — a bargain gone wrong. You didn’t know of what it spoke, shattering whatever thoughts you had connected. “I’m a mere messenger, it is not my decision to spare you or not. Your last words were in vain, however entertaining.”

Your eyes widened at its—his, you supposed—words. If he was just a messenger, then, perhaps, he wasn’t the core of the urban legend… Reacting on instinct, you pulled out your gun. And you fired.

* * *

 **Hoodie** _;; 1389_

Another bottle shattering rings through the, otherwise, silent night. Inarticulate slurs follow the loud crash, along with loud, raspy laughter; chatter picks up from the group. The loud noise makes you jump suddenly, spilling some of your own drink on the soil below. Merely looking at the group responsible for it, you continued in enjoying the night. These types of events could be enjoyable — you didn’t quite resent them, though you didn’t particularly like them either. It was more of a way to pass time, being jumbled up with random people, almost forced at socializing. Answering when asked or spoken to directly, otherwise bearing a smile and listening to the others. You weren’t shy or scared to approach these people; simply, you were comfortable in your own ways, staying away from people and observing. You didn’t like staying oblivious or ignorant, and the psychology of a human was quite interesting.

“Hey, you all should probably keep it down just a bit,”‌ came the soft voice from _him._ Even though most people didn’t know each other, everybody knew him — Brian; the life of the party, the model student _and_ person. Always smiling and never wavering in his ways. There weren’t many that disliked him. There was practically nothing to dislike‌!—the source of this statement being those closest to him. On top of everything, he was a considerable person, not one to just wreck havoc so easily under the influence of alcohol or any other psychoactive substance.

There were rounds of apologies, realizing that, despite the camping night being considerably away from town, the noise could attract unwanted animals. For the first time in a while, you zoned out of the conversation at hand with your acquaintances, and you kept your eyes trailed on Brian. You would often dismiss these thoughts, never really sharing them with anyone else, but you knew that something was wrong about him. You didn’t dislike him because of his popularity or how well he was doing in life — those were petty reasons. You disliked him because of the goosebumps you get whenever observing him. Maybe it was all in your head, but you’ve been keeping an eye out on Brian for a little under a year now.

“See something you like, (Y/n)?”‌ Your name was drawled out by your drunk acquaintance, and your attention snapped back to the conversation. With a dismissive smile, you dropped the subject of Brian and returned to this night of fun. The last thing you needed was out of place teasing. Obviously, anybody would think that you liked Brian — anybody would like him.

Though, you never thought that your hunch would be _spot-fucking-on._ The camp had settled down, people either willingly sleeping or passed out in the dirt; it was quiet again save for the forest’s creak. Though, no matter how peaceful and safe this place felt, your eyes stayed wide open, and your whole body tense as if you were waiting on something — and then, you heard it. Whoever was sneaking out, they tried to be quiet, though caught pieces of the previously broken bottle. They clanged against one another, enough for a conscious person to pick it up. You didn’t know when you picked yourself up to peek from your tent opening, but you were in time to see the person’s back; with a steady pace, they went deeper into the forest. With a deep breath, you set out to following them, after you’ve acquired a bottle to, at least, somehow protect yourself if worst comes to worst.

Throughout the ordeal, you had to keep a distance between you and _them._ It was painful how slowly you progressed, lest you trip over a branch or step onto something that might make any kind of artificial sound. You didn’t know why you followed your impulses on this adventure, though you knew something was bound to come into the light after this — long enough — night. However, you didn’t count onto the shadow to disappear into thin air. Your eyes widened slightly, and you felt your heart rate pick up; the tree behind you came against your back for support as you tried to even out your breathing. _Maybe they just went behind a tree._

You carefully peeked back to where you last saw the figure. With nothing in sight, you decided to advance. Another impulsive decision with an interesting outcome. From your own spot, the trees obscured your vision of a small shack. There was broken glass scattered underneath where the windows should be, along with broken planks that were supposed to be the structure of this shack. The very entrance to it was completely obliterated, and you spotted a crowbar not too far from the door. Dismissing the bottle rather quickly, you picked up your newly found weapon, and without much mind to it, entered the abandoned structure.

In hindsight, every single one of your decisions seemed blatantly stupid — but you weren’t _fucking_ dumb. You knew there was something going on in this town; hearing stories from the grapevine, keeping track of people, and most of all keeping track of Brian. Perhaps it wasn’t your place to butt in, though you couldn’t help the curiosity and urge to find out. The shack came up empty of presence, though it was completely destroyed from the inside. Any type of furniture was in pieces, the shelves were knocked down or were barely hanging on one screw; but the thing that caught your attention were the scattered papers—files, rather. You eyed a rather heavy case, millions of questions and red flags going on in your head upon the destruction you just witnessed. You hoped that there were some answers around here, that this wasn’t in vain and that you weren’t tailing just some pedophile or druggie.

Rather carefully, you picked up the heavy looking case. On its front, it was labelled in black marker. “Liar,”‌ you whispered, half questioningly at the multiply bolded letters. You flipped through the papers, scanning wherever there were tangible words — but almost everything was blacked out. The name of the subject was redacted, leaving only the last name; you didn’t immediately make the connection, though the moment you did you let out an airy laugh.

“Brian fucking Thomas.”‌ This certainly didn’t answer any of your questions, though at the very least, you knew this guy was in some shady fucking business. Nearing the end of these files, almost every page was covered in black marker, with a reoccurring symbol either completely over the page or in the corners. You didn’t have time to wonder about it, as you picked up on the sound of footsteps and glass cracking. Immediately, you spun around, eyeing a hooded figure through one of the windows. Your body went cold when inspecting this figure — their front was covered in blood, and their face overcast by some sort of mask.

Before you could react in any way, you heard a sigh coming from this person, and they leaned over the broken window, completely relaxed as if the blood on them had never happened. “I‌ was wondering where you disappeared to. Didn’t think you’d have the guts to approach this little shed, let alone skim through those,”‌ the person lazily points at the files in your hands. Their voice muffled by the thick material of the mask, though it was monotone, completely neutral in tone. You couldn’t say anything, eyes racing from the blood to the mask, to their gloved hands, to the files in your hands.

“Oh, come on now, you were having such a fun time. Being a little detective and all. I‌ have to hand it to you, though,”‌ upon speaking, the hooded figure easily maneuvers through the window and into the cramped space of the shed, “you did a good job of suspecting me, and figuring me out.”‌ _He_ chuckled. Were you shocked?‌ You couldn’t tell, as everything was still being processed by you. You felt some sort of calmness, or it could just be adrenaline giving you awareness.

“Brain fucking Thomas, huh?”‌ He imitated, all while approaching you. And you didn’t waste any time in throwing the case at him, scattering the papers all around, and making a break for it — all while clutching the damned crowbar as if your life depended on it.

“Aw, now that won’t do, will it?”‌


	3. The Thrill of the Night: Part II

**The Operator/Slenderman** ;; _924_

Some would describe this as one of those lows in life. Some would say that it takes time to get back on your feet.‌ Though, you describe it more as the lowest of the lows in your life — rock bottom. The countless bad moments, thoughts, and feelings pile up; stringing one after another until you’re where you are now. You’re not sure how it started, what events lead up to this. Though, at this point you’re not even sure if it’s fixable.

In a certain point in time, things just began being _weird —_ for the lack of better adjective. You’ve begun misplacing your belongings, losing sleep and thus missing morning meetings, and — worst of all — your memory doesn’t serve you as it has. Eventually, the confines of your room felt better than being among society, and you don’t remember the last time you had the energy to get out for basic groceries. It’s as if your life had come to a stop altogether, and you couldn’t even tell what day or time it was… Of course, that wasn’t entirely the truth. Once in a while, a good friend of yours would ring you up; the only friend you still had by your side. Most of your friends — or better said acquaintances — have completely abandoned you, some even going as far as calling you insane or in need of medical treatment.

Maybe they were right. You contemplated on visiting a psychologist — or anyone that could help you — though, you still weren’t sure what you would say. You had a feeling that things would just become worse, and that the professional help wouldn’t be much help. You were fine like this, dealing with it on your own.

It was another gloomy day, anyways. You took a liking to those — where rain fogs up your windows, and the clouds dim the town below. It was quiet, save for the intensity of the rain, and it was mostly empty on the streets. On days like these, you found yourself opening your curtains, and gazing longingly through the window. Your house was located at the very outskirts of a forest, one whom you’ve come to adore _so_ much. The, seemingly, eternal span of tress provided comfort you’ve never quite felt in your life. You could stare for hours without noticing the time pass. Certainly, there was something wrong with you for finding quite a gloomy, ominous sight attractive and/or pleasing. Every once in a while, the forest’s trance would shut down your senses — to the point of not noticing your trustworthy friend leaving the groceries in your house.

“(Y/n).”‌ Ah, and wasn’t it one of those times. Your dazed look meets your friend’s concerned one. For some reason, their features were completely forgotten in your mind. It was as if a black mist clouded your vision, and you couldn’t see them at all. A‌ faceless yet caring figure in your life. What was their name again?‌ “I hate to say this, yet…”‌ They trailed off, not moving from the doorway of your room. You couldn’t exactly feel the tension in the air nor their sudden hesitant nature. “Maybe it’s better if you seek professional help. I‌ cannot keep on taking care of you. It’s been weeks of visiting you nonstop,” though, despite your lack of senses, those words stung, “I have my own life. I’m sorry, (Y/n), please take care.”

You don’t remember seeing them leave, or how you returned to the ethereal forest without an emotion clinging to you.

The state, of course, got worse. You started sleep-walking, it would seem. Or were you actually sleep-walking?‌ Maybe it was a conscious decision, forgotten in your severely shattered mental state. Nonetheless, it seems your longing for the forest was too great a burden, so much that your own unconsciousness has brought you in the middle of it. Though, you didn’t seem to mind much, merely gazing around, trying to figure out how your feet work to venture further. You do not notice the piece of burnt paper in your hand; neither the static nor voice in your head.

And as you near the core of this invisible gravity line that was pulling you, a rather pleasing voice calls you out.

“I have never quite met a human that found comfort in my games. Do you hate life that much, little lamb?”

* * *

 **Eyeless Jack** ;; _1145_

“Seems like something’s on your mind, huh?”

Halloween night. The gentle voice snapped you out of your daze, and you met them with the kindest smile you could muster. You had almost forgotten the ongoing party had it not been for your acquaintance, Jack. He, too, smiled politely at you all while taking a seat next to you. It wasn’t entirely that you wanted company, though you seem to be put at ease with this man’s presence next to you.

“Oh, nothing much, really. Just everyday stuff, some cases to solve, but nothing too important to share,”‌ you worded rather carefully. Despite not knowing each other for long, Jack has proven to be quite persistent. He seemed to proclaim himself as your friend in need, or at least you assumed his thought flow. He was too kind to you sometimes; and while you would gladly take a shoulder to cry on, your cases weren’t exactly free to be disclosed.

“Ah, that go-to answer. Man, I must suck at being, y’know, the person to go to, huh?”‌ Of course, he was joking. You giggled at this, shaking your head in the process. He never really got angry with you and your privacy, as he was aware of your position as a detective worker. It has been your dream job since little feet, though only recently have you gotten the full details of what it’s like working in this line. “Would you prefer I change it up a notch? At this rate, you can answer yourself when you talk to me.”

“Nah, it’s cool as it is, of course I’m not gonna push anything, you know that,”‌ he cracks his knuckles as he speaks, an action you’ve notice him do far too often. A‌ bad habit or an unconscious reaction to his anxiety?‌ What would he be anxious about?‌ “Just thought I’d remind you to relax a little. It’s your little vacation, and we’re quite glad to have you here.” Ah, he sounded as if it’s a high school reunion — which wasn’t entirely a lie. Quite a few of your friends were lurking around, dancing and partying as if it was another hosted party the night before a school morning. It’s fascinating how much has changed, and how successful these people are now — you would include yourself, though you couldn’t call yourself successful with that _one_ unsolved case.

The train of thought landed on Jack. In hindsight, you’ve only now realized how little you know about him, despite him calling you two friends. “What’s your story, hmm?”‌ You’ve found yourself asking before you could think it through. He looked at you in confusion, seemingly caught off guard, “you know, I’m sure _your job_ is stressing you out too.” A victim usually grows stressed if you ask questions directly, going as far as abandoning any conversation. Sometimes, you need to remind yourself of cutting the act with friends or when meeting people, though it seemed far too late. Were you paranoid?‌‌ _Who’s asking?_

“Oh, yeah, it is pretty stressful,” he went with the flow of the conversation, a bit unbothered but too cold blooded. Was he hiding something? You noticed that he stopped fidgeting with his hands, going as still as a dead body. You slightly narrow your eyes, relaxing a second later as to not show your suspicion. “Oh, yeah? The… patients must be tough to deal with.” You straight up bluffed. You had no idea what his job is, you have absolutely no background on Jack — so you went with his costume. Most of your friends/colleagues have dressed up as their job; as ironic as it was, it was the easiest solution.

“Ah, yes, it can be very—”

“Gosh, (Y/n),” a friend of yours drawled — more like yelled — from across the garden. You could already smell the alcohol coming off her in waves, and your nose scrunched up with dissatisfaction. Yes, you forgot her own bad habits, as she effectively cut your conversation short. “Stop tryna make awful~ conversations when it’s a partay!” You sigh as you notice her waving a bottle of wine around. She beckons Jack and you over, urging you to get at least tipsy.

Yes, some people never changed past high school it seems.

…

The way home seemed to have been shorter than usual. Perhaps you were exhausted to the point of blacking out the trip home; none the matter, the refreshing feeling of entering familiar space — without the smell of alcohol — was relished thoroughly by you. It was quiet, so peaceful, and you didn’t want to break that silence at all. You stood dazed in your hallway, mulling over some thoughts as you just controlled the breathing.

“That wasn’t a very pleasant party,” you exhaled a whisper, rubbing your temples. Frankly, you barely recognized the people you once called friends. You decided to ditch the gathering before any police was involved; even then, the wealth of some of your friends wouldn’t put them in a problem — you scoffed, too tired to think about corruption or anything regarding that matter.

And as you finally thought you entered a safe space, a rather loud thump was heard from the kitchen. You paled at this, immediately reaching out for the first sturdy thing you could find (really, an umbrella wasn’t the best choice but it was a choice you made). You rounded the kitchen cautiously, inspecting the scene. There seemed to be some rubble off the wall fallen next to the window, assuming that somebody exited in haste — how absolutely disorganized from the criminal. You rolled your eyes at this, already pitching the culprit as a lowlife, nothing to be wary of—

Except… That the culprit didn’t seem to take anything. You were greeted with a rather large, decorated box sitting atop the counter, all with a little note attached to it. A certain smell seemed to overpower the fresh air, and you were on high alert; almost immediately opening the box. Had it been any normal person, perhaps they would have vomited their guts out, or maybe screamed. For some reason, you felt _excited._

It was the case you were working on, and you got to experience it firsthand. You didn’t even spare a thought as to whose liver that was, all until you read the note. Shaky handwriting, between cursive and blocky text, some blood spilled on the little note.

“I noticed how you look at your acquaintances. They seemed to have bothering you. Thank me later. -Jack”

Was something wrong with you for laughing at that? How symbolic that a liver was delivered to you — of your alcoholic, rotten acquaintances. Oh, and how enthralled you were that your assumptions about this Jack figure were correct.

“What a nice present…” You mused, forgetting sleep and the comfort of this house; he was here, somewhere, and you were about to finish this case.

* * *

 **Jeff The Killer** ;; _1129_

There it was, the ringing again.

You remember the myths– or legends, stories for little kiddies, your grandmother used to tell you. The ringing always indicated an angel watching over you, so you shouldn’t be scared. No, never be scared of it. Embrace is for what it is, and let it guide you.

Though, you didn’t believe her words anymore; the ringing led you to where you were now — out of breath, with various wounds on your back, arms, legs. Your body was functioning on pure will and instinct of survival — at first, you damned the ringing of these supposed angels. Did you deserve this? Was this your judgement? When the man clad in white appeared before you, you didn’t notice the blood stains or his wicked smile — if that could be classified as a smile. You were hopeful, you smiled, and you went to embrace your guardian.

But it was all for naught.

“Come out, come out, little whore.” His voice was slightly high pitched, an uncontrollable tone. It seemed like it hurt him to even speak. You’d hope that it did, as it was your fault his throat was bleeding out; but he was a monster, through and through. You cower behind some rubble, your current location completely unknown. You shouldn’t have been so naive, shouldn’t have trusted your grandmother, neither should have you researched the topic of these beings.

You clutch onto your necklace, hoping to calm down your breathing so he wouldn’t hear you. He was roaming around, carelessly knocking over half-broken walls, throwing his knife at where he thought you’d be. Your heart was leaping out of your chest, your whole body was completely numb; from head to toe, you were covered in blood and bruises, perhaps you had a broken rib? Maybe it wasn’t the time to be asking questions. You gripped your necklace harder as his footsteps became louder, and louder, and louder, and louder.

Until there was a shadow over you. You didn’t dare look up, his menacing laughter enough to know your fate. He grabbed you by the hair, smashing your head against the first sturdy surface he found. “You really… Really thought that you could run away?…” He huffs between his words, straining himself to keep on dragging to to hell, “after you did this?!” He yells, pointing at his throat with the tip of his knife.

You couldn’t see very well, black spots entering your vision as the ringing grew louder — you had almost forgotten that it was there. Your head hurt, but you could gather that his wounds have almost completely healed. He was silent, watching you with amusement as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “What? Is that little surprise attack all you had in you?” He rasped.

You couldn’t do anything except barely stare at him. Your grip slacked on the necklace, as well as on the reality around you. You heard him scoff at your weakness, though there wasn’t much to do about it. You could only fight for your consciousness.

“Aren’t you…Supposed to be an angel?”

He laughed at your childlike daze, in the most cruel way possible. He shoved you down in the dirt, seemingly telling you where you belong. Jeff truthfully couldn’t believe his ears, how naive one would be. He had his fair share of oblivious victims, but in the end they all knew to fear him and to distinguish him as a monster. And here this human was, still asking questions…

The ringing never stopped. You didn’t have much faith left, knowing that this was your end. He didn’t humor you at all, staying silent as he rose his knife for the final blow. You duck your head, hiding in your arms as they supported your body on the floor. The moment dragged for eternity, and you presumed you were already dead. The moment passed, didn’t it? But you didn’t feel anything at all, much like your other wounds. Your head even stopped hurting. Surely, you were dead. So you crawled out of your little shell, looking upwards… And you met his unblinking eyes, seemingly wider than before.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asked in such a violent way, that your headache could have returned. You flinched as he crouched next to you, reaching his hand out — was he going to grab you by your head again? You cowered away, but before you could move your head further, the chain of the necklace restrained any further movement.

You could only watch as he inspected the pendant — a clear crystal, somehow still pure despite all the blood and gore that happened around it. His forehead seemed to crease, as if he was frowning or in deep thought — you weren’t sure, as his eyebrows were missing. His pupils suddenly snapped back at you, and you tensed once more.

“Why the fuck do you have this? Where did you get this from?” He barraged you suddenly, his grip on the pendant strengthening, as if he wanted to rip it off, take it for himself. As you realized this, your fight or flight instincts overcame you, and you snatched the jewelry from his hand. The chain of the necklace broke, though you were successful in retrieving the crystal.

Though, obviously, that had only enraged the monster further. “Answer me, you fucking bitch!” He seized your hands, which were tightly clutched one over another, and he clawed at them, “have you no fucking idea what this is? What the fuck is a useless human like you doing with a̸͕͆ṉ̶͝í̶̲m̴̠̂a̴̳͑?” You couldn’t understand of what he spoke, though a sudden breeze overcame the both of you as he spoke of its name. You had almost forgotten the landscape you were in, where you were fighting for your life; everything was crimson, and the breeze only further fueled the rash color. There were fires here and there, but mostly it was blood.

You felt enraged by what you were surrounded, acting on pure instinct, “this is mine! Get your filthy hands off of it. You can have this over my gosh darned,” you spit out every word as you headbutted him, getting him off of you, “dead body!” You were out of breath.

As was Jeff. He hadn’t seen a human regenerate so fast. Hadn’t seen a human in possession of these cursed items in a few hundred years. Was this a bad omen for him? He scoffed, standing up from the ground. “You’re too weak to have their spirits trapped. Is this why you thought I was an angel?” He laughed.

“Alright, it’s settled. I’ll kill you, and reclaim what was mine.” You felt chills take over you at the pure blood lust in his voice. And you didn’t know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The introduction is done. Each character has their own adventure through this story, and each meeting was brought by fate. There aren't many hints about the story thus far, though if anyone has any theories about the story as a whole or individual adventures, do feel free to share it in the discussion.
> 
> And also, the requests are opened. You can request a specific scenario to happen, it will not affect the main story at all. Thank you for reading, and stay tuned for the next chapter — Wolf In Sheep's Clothing.


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